[Dom Kennedy:] Niggas thought they heard the most playa’ shit ever… Than they heard the Half-A-Mil shit Know what I’m saying? Yeah, yeah, yeah Ayy, ayy, look No matter what you can’t see… Word!
Money falling on the ground Damn I missed the Ye concert A stripper dancing on me head pressed And she smell good too Shoes ain’t Jimmy Choo’s I can tell she high maintenance everybody want a turn I don’t wanna know her name unless she leaving here with me Hopping in the car alone diamond cross saying bling I went to Orville Wright middle school With Rodney and Idris My momma don’t like it when you call me Dominic Before rap songs I was really doing freaks I was really getting fresh neck stains on the sheets How niggas ain’t got the Half-A-Mil on repeat? Number 1 album of the year for the streets Fuck around and make me go Pope Don Paul Did more for LA than Kobe and Brian Shaw Niggas don’t invite me to their shows Cause they hoes might run up on me 75 inch on me getting my back rubbed No matter what you can’t see me Air any season, balling be the reason 42 hundred dollar bills please believe me With the credit card monday to the weekend Throw another dub in the air keep it going Throw another dub in the air keep it going Throw another dub in the air keep it going Ay I see you workin’
[Hit-Boy:] Look Work work work work work work work Yeah you know I got that work, uh Work work work work work work work Taking no days off, corner pocket A1 Space Age Pimpin’, MJG and 8 Ball Playing on my apple connect Nothing less than half a mil on the check Work, work it like a star, play my shit She know every word by heart Tell them niggas they was close but no cigar Graduating ain’t a task And I know the money make you back flip I’m just tryna live and grow I feel like Casey, just face it, I’m facing these dutchies The squad never ducking Drag my name in publications I’m the one they still can’t fuck with Y’all ride waves for entertainment My daddy got cases, put up bread to get him out And I still couldn’t get him out Just got a text from uncle westside He got bails of the south In the text he first he got bail from the towers Bring the cameras out, direct this Half-a-Mil movie Hit it right before a period and now she acting moody Y’all must have been fooled Now the kid ain’t slacking braids in the hair, poetic justice Janet Jackson, grab that Perrier Jouet off the shelf Now tell me more about yourself
[Woman:] [?] I’m from the Bay I graduated from [?] I’m a Mexican blood I’m fucking with Half-A-Mil
[Dom Kennedy:] Can’t see me No matter what you can’t see me Can’t see me